White Orchid
by LilacFree
Summary: Fluff without plot. The episode 'Black Orchid', becomes something entirely more vanilla and fluffy. Very AU. Focuses on the Fifth Doctor and Tegan, and rated mature for adult situations.


AU for the Fifith Doctor episode 'Black Orchid'.

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who and I am silly. I also like taking the Fifth Doctor's clothes off. I just do, okay? I am Fangirl, hear me phwoarrrrrrr!

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o 

The Fifth Doctor was naked. One does get naked when one has a bath. He was smugly satisfied and sunk deep in a tub of warm sudsy water. This era of history was good for simple comforts if one was lucky enough to be a guest of a well-to-do English aristocrat, which one was. One also had a gin and tonic, and one's toes were pink.

He contemplated his rosy toes on the far end of the tub. It was a massive thing, big enough for a Time Lord of slightly over six feet in height to stretch out comfortably. The poor servants had had to fill it by hand out of huge coppers. He'd made sure to help the one housemaid—she could only just carry the thing by herself, so he'd stepped in quietly and sent her off with a shilling he'd found in his pocket. Fortunately, it was a shilling from 20 years ago instead of 20 years from now. She'd smiled at him as if he were a hero, poor girl.

It had been a thoroughly splendid day. He'd been on the top of his form in the cricket match. The warm water was even now soothing the pleasant fatigue from his muscles. He felt relaxed and energized, and an evening spent enjoying the hospitality of Cranleigh Hall with his friends was just what the Doctor ordered.

Emerging from the tub, the Doctor dried himself off then slipped into the magnificent paisley silk dressing gown. He gave himself a fresh shave. His costume waited ready on the bed. He toweled his hair dry and combed it back from his face.

No secret passages opened. No mysterious figures entered. If there were any dead bodies, they were keeping themselves to themselves in a well-mannered English fashion and not bothering anyone about their lamentable condition.

The Doctor put on his costume. As he descended the stairs, he could hear dance music playing. In his present excellent mood, the rhythm was inviting. He passed the beautiful white orchid that George Cranleigh had brought back from the Amazon, a gift from a native tribe. Lovely plant, such a large bloom. The white spread of it caught the light so that it glowed like a full moon. It was a pity about George Cranleigh. He'd had a stroke from a fever he'd caught in South America, and was permanently crippled. He'd resigned his title in favor of his brother, not to mention his fiancée. Strange, how perfectly Ann resembled Nyssa. Even the Time Lords had no explanation for such phenomena.

Going into the ballroom, he looked out over the crowd. There was Adric, happily gorging his adolescent appetite at the buffet. Lady Cranleigh had been amused at his appetite and had privately told the Doctor it reminded her fondly of the challenge it had been to raise her sons. Perhaps Adric could use a little more guidance than lately he'd been receiving from the Doctor. He was still a boy, after all. Nyssa, now, was grown. In Traken terms, she was less mature than Ann Cranleigh, but Traken standards demanded more of an adult than did Earth standards. He watched Nyssa and Ann tease Lord Cranleigh with their twin act. He hadn't seen her smile so much since the destruction of Traken, and though he fully intended to dance, watching her was such a pleasure that he lingered in the doorway.

It was Tegan who spotted theDoctor first, smiling at him over Sir Robert's shoulder as she danced past. He'd never seen her so happy and relaxed. Now that she'd decided to stay, the TARDIS crew was able to see the pleasant side of her personality. His eyes followed Tegan. She was breathtakingly lovely in her wood nymph's costume, and with that carefree smile. He headed towards her as the tune ended. "May I have the next dance, Tegan?"

o

This was the up side of TARDIS travel. It was like being in a Wodehouse novel, or living a period film. These Edwardian aristocrats behaved in such an easy, gracious, generous manner. They'd taken in the lot of them just because the Doctor was a good cricket player: fed them, housed them, clothed them, and entertained them. She was glad she'd decided to stay before this day. It was only good luck. Judging by her experiences so far, this was a rare circumstance to be welcomed whole-heartedly that some disaster did not show up for the Doctor to combat.

Speaking of the Doctor, there he was, smiling benevolently in Nyssa's direction. She grinned at him as she danced past with Sir Robert. He was a charming old duffer. He knew how to flirt without making anything more of it, light and airy and as sweet and harmless as a soap bubble floating in the air.

When the music stopped, there was the Doctor at her elbow. "May I have the next dance, Tegan?"

The costume matched his lighthearted mood. Though Adric's fancy shirt might have suited the Doctor's broad shoulders, he simply wasn't a Cavalier. Not that Adric was, unless you counted his lording over the buffet table. "My pleasure. Thank you, Sir Robert. You're a beaut dancer."

"As are you, but you need a younger partner, my dear. Only my years allow me to give up your company willingly," he joked, yielding her to the Doctor.

Tegan waited until Sir Robert was out of earshot and said playfully to the Doctor, "Nyssa tells me you're much older than you look. Who is younger, you or Sir Robert?"

"He is," the Doctor chuckled. He was light on his feet, as she would have expected after his performance on the cricket field. He guided her through the dance with assurance; confident of her partner Tegan felt as if she were floating on air.

"I wondered if you were as good on the dance floor as on the cricket pitch."

"And?"

"You are." The dance ended, and she wanted to keep him, but Lady Cranleigh was approaching. "Here's your chance to dance with the hostess," she said, stepping back from him.

He retained her hand for a moment. "I shall come find you later, if you like?"

"Yes. I thought we danced rather well together." She found herself breathless, and fought to stay calm. He wanted to dance with her, is all. Harmless. Friendly. Nothing more. He released her hand and turned to Lady Cranleigh. Tegan went to get a bite to eat.

o

The Doctor danced, and the world didn't end. He danced with Lady Cranleigh and he danced with Nyssa and Ann (and had no difficulty in telling them apart!) He danced with some other ladies.

Finally, he rescued Tegan from Adric stepping on her feet—or, as Adric was less than enthusiastic about dancing—he rescued Adric from Tegan. "Mind if I cut in?"

"Cut what? Oh, you _want_ to dance with Tegan. I mean, of course you do," Adric replied and stepped cheerfully aside. Tegan overlooked this less than gallant departure and moved into the Doctor's arms. The next dance was a waltz. Adric was not of an age or disposition that he would have enjoyed this step, but the Doctor did. The couples whirled smoothly across the floor like the planets in Ptolemaic orbits. They retrograded around Ann and Lord Cranleigh.

"Is that Nyssa or Ann?" Tegan wondered.

"Ann. If you look carefully, Nyssa has a degree of control of her body that Ann does not. Traken deportment emphasizes grace of body as well as grace of words."

"I love seeing her enjoying herself tonight. A young girl should have more chances to enjoy herself like this."

"Young girl? She's nearly as old as you are, Tegan."

"In maturity, a short time can make a big difference."

He chuckled. "And you're not enjoying yourself just as much?"

"Oh, I am, believe me…" she smiled up at him. Their eyes met and her voice trailed off. The Doctor needed only a fraction of attentiveness to steer them around the floor. For once, Tegan was accepting his guidance without question. Indeed, they did dance rather well together.

"I like seeing Nyssa so happy. And you." His voice was low and soft—she was right there, in his arms, no need to raise his voice at all. The Doctor had had all he wanted of shouting at Tegan.

"And Adric?"

"Well, he's happy enough," the Doctor said indulgently.

"As long as he's by the buffet."

"I'm not sure if he's feeding himself or conducting a scientific investigation into the comparative nutritional value of the food."

"He's certainly being thorough." They laughed together, and it wasn't laughter at Adric, who was simply being a refreshingly normal teenaged boy. They were laughing _together_, and it felt as easy and pleasurable as dancing together.

The musicians paused to rest, and the Doctor found himself escorting Tegan onto the terrace. She asked him how he had taken up cricket, and he was happy to tell her all about it.

o

The terraced garden was immaculate, and Tegan found the change of surface a relief for her tired feet. Not that she noticed them much. Her partner absorbed her. She liked sports; she was fond of cricket; but above all she was enjoying the Doctor's enthusiasm. Tegan couldn't guess how much older he was than Sir Robert. At the moment, he was acting a little younger than his apparent age. He could have been her age. Her arm was tucked lightly through the Doctor's, the air was pleasantly cool after the exertion of dancing, and Tegan was simply happy. Her old life seemed as distant as a dream. This moment was too vivid to be dream-like.

The garden was lit by strings of Chinese lanterns, scarcely needed yet in the early evening. The effect was very pretty, but the Doctor found that his mask impeded his vision. He pulled it off and shook out his hair. The terrace had been crowded earlier, but now almost everyone was inside.

"There goes Pierrot. He suits you better than the Dottore would. You haven't the waistline for that part." Tegan poked him in the stomach.

'Il Dottore' as a character was fond of food and wine, and unlike that character, the Doctor's waistline was trim. "You know the commedia dell'arte?" They wandered off the terrace and into the garden proper, into the cool shadows.

"I'm not totally ignorant of my own planet's culture. I did some theatre in school. I often had to play a boy because of my voice and because there were always more girls than boys. A young boy at that, because of being short."

"You do have an unusual voice. What do they call it? A whiskey voice."

"I'll take that over gravelly or harsh any day."

"It's not harsh at all when you're in a good mood, like now. So what parts did you play?"

"When I was 14 I played Mercutio. That was fun because I got to train in stage fighting. Then that summer I was in an amateur theatre group and I understudied Tybalt. I never got to play him on stage, though. I spent more time painting the backgrounds and sewing costumes."

o

He listened to her voice with more attention than he gave her words. She was a good choice, if no male actor was available, to play the part of fiery young fellows like Tybalt and Mercutio.

"Aowhoooo!" The raspy call was not Tegan, but an owl. Tegan pointed at the bird, briefly visible overhead as it skimmed the lighted area. She kept looking in that direction, her head lifted, the golden light of a lantern tracing down her throat to the rise of her breasts. As she turned her head, following the bird's flight, the glowing line shifted into new enchanting vistas like the progress of a sunset. She must, he mused idly, keep her hair short exactly because her neck was so lovely.

"That's a pretty costume. It's more of the Victorian idea of a nymph—pink and green gauze—than a Classical one."

"In that case I'd be naked except for a grape leaf."

"Ahem, very true," the Doctor said. The silence that followed was slightly strained. It might have had something to do with the Doctor's attempt not to think of a naked Tegan. Once that image had been brought to mind, it took the control of a Time Lord not to think of it as one might find it difficult not to think of a pink elephant.

o

Tegan found herself uncharacteristically bereft of words. Their conversation had started in Sport, approached Flirtation, and then hastily detoured to Silence. What was he thinking if he couldn't find anything to say? The Doctor, of all people, not to have ready words. She looked at him and found him looking back.

His gaze trapped hers and the quality of the silence took on an anticipatory tension. The Doctor's cool fingers cupped her chin as light as a breath of air. He bowed his head to hers without ever breaking their shared gaze. There was no rush, no hurry, and no clumsiness. Their lips met smoothly and clung. Gracefully accomplishing each stage of increased intimacy, they stepped into each other, embraced, parted lips, and pressed close the lengths of their bodies. From what else Tegan could feel was pressed against her, the dueling of their tongues might next be followed by a bout of wrestling.

His fingers slid across back of her bare shoulders, caressing the furrow of her spine. He would have seemed human but for the coolth of his flesh. His thumb slid up her spine to the nape of her neck and rubbed a circle. She moaned into the kiss, and he broke it. He rested his forehead against hers. "Would it please you to join me in my room, Tegan?"

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. The only answer she had breath for was, "Yes." The Doctor held her hand as they walked across terrace. He held the door for her, and then put his hand lightly on her back. He was escorting her as was his habit, and she wondered if she'd ever again be able to treat it as a casual touch. Was it casual now, to him? Tegan glanced sidelong at the Doctor, and he softly caressed her back. No, not casual.

Wasn't it like a dream? Only in a dream did such events take place so simply. It all felt perfectly natural. They reached the Doctor's room; he locked the door; she took off her headband. In between kisses they stripped each other bare. In real life (since this was a dream) she'd have not just bathed and shaved her legs. She didn't simply feel beautiful or attractive, she felt perfect, and perfection was a unique experience. He kissed her again, and without any shyness or hesitation she took hold of his erection and stroked it. If there were any differences due to his alien blood, they were not apparent to the touch. He moaned, like any man might, and carried her to the bed.

o

Why did he do this so seldom? Oh, his life was incredibly eventful, but he counted himself a lover of beauty, and here was beauty in one of its most celebrated forms. Gallifrey was not ignorant of sex, and rarely did a non-machine race lack interest in sex. It was a nearly universal constant: the sight of a partner, flesh unashamedly bare and inviting touch, was the rightful subject of art.

Tegan smiled up at him and stretched out on the bed, knowing his gaze clung to her. She was watching him in return, and he was glad this body was young and fit. She seemed pleased.

"Now you really do look like a wood nymph."

She grinned at him and the impishness of her expression increased the unusual beauty of her face. Even though she was alien to him, he could only qualify it as exotic. "You, on the other hand, are beginning to look like a satyr."

It was a salient point. "Priapism," he remarked, joining her on the bed, "is not reserved to satyrs. In Greek mythology, Priapus was the son of—"

Tegan robbed him of breath and thought by getting straight to the point. The Doctor had often wished he could shut Tegan up, but he'd never thought of this approach.

It was certainly effective.

o

_The Doctor demonstrated his skill with a bat to Tegan and she showed him her best rugby tackle. They ended up devoting a whole night to sport._

o

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The End


End file.
